


until kingdom come

by bluu



Category: Fire Emblem Series, Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Canon Compliant, Canon-Typical Violence, Character Study, F/F, Implied Sexual Content, Pining, Relationship Study, Unnecessarily poetic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-05
Updated: 2020-01-05
Packaged: 2021-02-27 12:55:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,096
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22127509
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bluu/pseuds/bluu
Summary: In the quiet of elegance, of fresh blood and ice — there is nothing so breathtaking as the way Byleth arcs her blade and kills.(Or: Edelgard's most unforgivable sin has always been greed.)
Relationships: Edelgard von Hresvelg/My Unit | Byleth
Comments: 17
Kudos: 269





	until kingdom come

**Author's Note:**

> Unbeta'd. Unedited. Also, not particularly good. Oh well.
> 
> If you follow my writing at all, you might notice that I tend to do small pieces like this -- relationship/character studies -- to enter the headspace of a character, especially if I am writing a new pairing. Edelgard was shockingly easy to narrate, though it is completely up to you if you think I did her justice.
> 
> Title from Red Velvet's ["Kingdom Come." ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vJEAMow2A4o)

Like a timeless painting, framed and hung, the professor is untouchable.

Edelgard is no fool. The second Byleth introduces herself as the new head of the Black Eagles House, she knows there is something strange about the woman; in her eyes, perhaps, the way they seemed impossibly deep like the sea but empty of all feeling— an ocean without life. Indeed, Byleth was clinical even as she protected Edelgard: a deliberate step, a swift unsheathe, a sharp slash across Kostas’s torso. Surgical, almost, the way the professor slices down a man. Perhaps expected from a mercenary.

Nevertheless, to Edelgard, the professor’s untimely arrival to the monastery boded only anxiety. An unknown variable, invading upon her carefully calculated plans to wreck Garreg Mach from the inside. The professor kills like she breathes: unthinkingly. The professor has eyes that feel like dead water.

Hubert is even more distrusting of Byleth. He doesn’t like her connection to Jeralt, Jeralt’s connection to Rhea, and his past with the Knights of Seiros. He doesn’t like her unpredictability, her mystery, and most of all, he doesn’t like the threat she could impose if she truly is Rhea’s soldier. A blade like that could strike down armies.

So Edelgard does what she does best. She wears a princess’s smile, she plays pretend, and she watches.

-

The professor, surprisingly, does a competent job of blending into the everyday monotony of student life at Garreg Mach. The Black Eagles House is a tumultuous bunch, with Ferdinand’s rambunctious flamboyance, Dorothea’s sultry feminine wiles, and Bernadetta’s restless anxiety, not to mention the other students with equally eccentric dispositions. The cacophony of personalities can be, at times, difficult to manage. Edelgard knows this excruciatingly well.

The professor handles the group smoothly. Her neutral, unmoving calm seems to settle even the most chaotic of the Black Eagles, and she teaches the house with careful precision and dexterity. The skill that Byleth has is truly astounding — it is obvious that the sword is her weapon of choice, but her competence with an axe is certainly nothing to scoff at. Neither is her expertise with the bow or lance. It is as if the professor is the reincarnation of an ancient heroine from prehistoric stories, Achillean in her battle prowess and nymphic in her elegance and beauty.

Edelgard watches Byleth lead the students into battle. They follow her every command with unwavering faith. Edelgard wonders how they have come to trust her so easily, so effortlessly, so quickly. 

Edelgard wants.

-

“She is _dangerous,_ your Highness,” Hubert hisses. 

“Do you take me for a fool, Hubert? I know exactly what she is capable of.”

The two of them are standing in the secluded gardens of the courtyard. In the distance, the warm chatter of their classmates contrasts sharply with the chilled secrecy of their own conversation. Edelgard looks at the buttons fixed on Hubert’s uniform and wonders if they too could’ve enjoyed the carefree bliss of being a student in another life.

But that is then, and this is now, and Edelgard is just a few steps away from realizing power and responsibility and the weight of a revolution on her shoulders. Byleth, in all of her glory, would be an invaluable asset to the Empire if Edelgard could coax her over to their side. 

“That is not what I mean. We have no idea where her allegiance truly lies.”

“No. We don’t,” Edelgard agrees. “But I am her student, and if I become closer to her, perhaps I can find out.”

Hubert sighs, looking skyward. “You have better things to be concerned with than attempting to procure the aid of a young ex-mercenary. Armies to rally, for example, and strategies to plan.”

“Imagine the armies she could command,” she retorts, thinking of Byleth and her eyes like water, stirred with determination, with her sword raised in triumph. 

Hubert, all-knowing, clicks his tongue.

-

She finds herself indulging in the pleasantries of the monastery more than she expects. The peach sorbet, for one, is absolutely divine. She must admit that fraternizing with her classmates — knowing full well that some of them are in danger of abandoning her once they discover the truth about her presence at the monastery — has led to eye-opening conversations about perspectives and experiences she is not familiar with. It is enlightening and enriching, learning from her peers and the academic rigor of the monastery. 

Rhea’s omnipresence, however, always lurks in the corners of the lessons she takes and praises for the Goddess are always sung at dawn. Hubert too is never far, and a simple exchange of glances reels her back into reality.

Nevertheless, she has moments to herself from time to time, and occasionally, the professor finds her alone in the library or in her quarters, and they share the mundane moments frivolously, the promise of a war creeping unnoticed on the horizon. 

(There have been nights where the professor has visited her room at the early echoes of the morning after a particularly painful memory rears its ugly head in her dreams. Unable to resist the professor’s concerned gaze and downcurved lips, Edelgard tells Byleth the worst of herself: the traumas of her family, the screams as they were hacked to pieces in the name of imbuing power into their fragile bones. 

Hubert was right — the professor is dangerous. Not in her prowess, not in the way she kills, but in the way Edelgard wants nothing more but Byleth’s approval like some dog running in circles for its owner. It is disgusting. Yet in the midnight moonglow that sieves through the glass windows and illuminates her professor’s form, the curve of her body ethereal and so, so untouchable, Edelgard could not care less.)

-

Edelgard is crowned Emperor of the Adrestian Empire. The professor, standing right beside her, bears witness in place of the Archbishop and looks equally as celestial. Edelgard kneels a princess and with dignity she rises a leader of a nation. 

Byleth is there. Her eyes are not so dead — instead, the ponds ripple with awe. 

-

Not a few weeks later, the Flame Emperor raids the Holy Tomb and unmasks in front of so many people she has come to respect and appreciate. Most of all, she reveals herself in front of the woman who saw her rise to the throne not so long ago.

Byleth is… surprised. In her shock, Rhea orders her to strike Edelgard down, enraged at the betrayal of one of the monastery’s students. 

She doesn’t. Instead, Byleth flips around, back to Edelgard, the tip of her blade pointed straight at Rhea’s neck, and there is nothing more beautiful in the way she poises to strike or in the way she is ready to kill for Edelgard— just like all those months ago. 

-

When Byleth returns from her five-year slumber, Edelgard has the blood of too many on her hands. When she returns, Edelgard remembers what she’s been missing, these past five years: the deadly elegance of a trained blade, the comfort of a professor’s wisdom, and ocean eyes worthy of drowning in. 

-

“She’s back.”

“Do not tell me you still remain suspicious of the professor. Not after all this time. Not after she turned her back on the Church, Rhea, the _goddess,_ who she embodies the power of, for me.”

“You mistake me, your Majesty. I was merely making a simple observation.”

“Well, yes. The professor is back. I did not ever take you to be one to state the obvious, Hubert. The tides will turn in our favor with her return — I can feel it. The Kingdom of Faerghus, the Leicester Alliance, the Church of Seiros… all will buckle to their knees now I have her back at my side.”

“... I am merely happy to see you in such high spirits again, your Majesty. It seems as those the impasse has had an impact on your emotional well-being.”

“I have the key to victory, now, Hubert. With her, I will birth a new world — one that bears not the weight of inequality.”

-

After all these years, Edelgard still wants. It takes on a different form, now — before, Edelgard wanted just the reverence of the professor’s effortless command and the loyalty she seemed to demand. Then, it turned it to wanting her approval, her pride, a smile that assured Edelgard’s restless heart. 

Now Edelgard wants heat, almost feeling Byleth's ghost fingers sliding up the milky skin of Edelgard's thighs and her short breaths on Edelgard's neck, teeth grazing over the jugular vein along with the slide of wet, wet lips as Edelgard wraps her legs around Byleth’s hips and pulls her impossibly closer, bodies flush. She wants to know what Byleth sounds like if Edelgard had the chance to unravel her, slowly, stripping her down and running greedy, greedy hands along the curve of Byleth’s waist, down in between her legs. She wants to know how Byleth tastes, she wants to know if her legs will shake or if her spine will arch as she comes apart— 

The thought makes Edelgard squirm.

Perhaps she has always wanted this. Byleth always seemed so untouchable, so holy, so… out of reach. At the same time, paradoxically, it made Edelgard want to feel her even more. Byleth was always so otherworldly, as if Edelgard’s touch would rip her from the divine and make her something sinful. As if Edelgard’s touch would sully her. 

Edelgard, with her bloodied hands and unbounded anger, is terrified of ruining something so beautiful. 

  
  


(At the same time, she has never wanted anything more.)

-

The two of them steamroll entire battlefields. Alongside former housemates turned soldiers, the Black Eagle Strike Force is truly something to be afraid of. Ferdinand’s flamboyance has morphed into something like fierceness, confident yells rallying foot soldiers as he stampedes into battle on a stallion. Dorothea’s sultry feminine wiles have made her a formidable dancer, her movements imbued with magic. Bernadetta’s restless anxiety has tempered into a meticulous precision that allows her to be one of Edelgard’s best sharpshooters. 

Byleth leads them all with the same unfettered authority that has always coaxed the utmost respect from even the most doubtful of onlookers. Like before, Edelgard follows every order. Even as the Adrestian Emperor and the next ruler of all Fódlan, she heels to Byleth. Byleth, with her sword of legends and unshakeable resolve — she seems almost like a myth as she stands behind hundreds of men and breathes. 

The winter air is piercing in these relentless battles. In the quiet of elegance, of fresh blood and ice — there is nothing so breathtaking as the way she arcs her blade and kills.

-

The final fight against the Immaculate One is not without strife. Edelgard loses countless soldiers in the battle, and some of her top commanders are left in critical condition. Hubert is gravely wounded, crippled a gaping injury that barely missed puncturing his left kidney. Caspar, too, was stabbed in the final battle, and last she heard he was losing too much blood. 

Edelgard can’t worry about that. Not now. The buildings are collapsing and hellfire roars all around. Her grip on Aymr trembles; she clenches her fist around the weapon. She looks at Byleth, searching for assurance like a little girl startled by a bad dream.

The returning nod is all she needs. 

The two of them strike down the dragon once and for all. Edelgard turns to Byleth, exhilarated, breathless, _grateful_ — 

-

(When Byleth wakes, Edelgard thinks about kissing her. Byleth’s lips part softly and her eyelids droop and Edelgard wants to kiss her. Instead, she cradles her professor in her arms and weeps.)

-

The war is over— Rhea is defeated. The Church of Seiros, while not completely dismantled, is in utter disarray. Fódlan is hers.

The two of them are at the Goddess Tower. The taste of victory is not so sweet, not just yet; not when the Agarthans still lurk in places unknown and the lands she has ravaged in her revolution remain in utter despair. Not when the history of Crests is still imbued in the legacy of many families, yet to be dismantled. Not when the smell of the blood of her classmates still lingers in the air, no matter how many times she wipes her weapon or washes her hands. 

Edelgard asks Byleth, her professor, her beloved, her impossible warrior with the ocean eyes to stay. Byleth slides a silver ring up her finger, smiles, and promises the world: who is Edelgard to refuse?

-

“Professor…”

“Please, El. Call me Byleth. We are equals now, aren’t we?”

“... Byleth. Byleth. Byleth.”

**Author's Note:**

> If you're reading this and you follow me for Trial By Fire -- rest assured. The ending is nearly finished. Honestly, it makes me kind of sad, so I may or may not be putting it off. But it'll go up soon, I promise.


End file.
